Mechanical
by ThomE.Gemcity-06
Summary: He was alone. They were gone and he was alone... /Includes: Spoilers for the end of the movie! Please R&R. :)


**Disclaimer: I don't own Fury, its characters of plot.**

 **Author's/Note: Contains spoilers for the ending of the movie.**

 _~ He was alone. They were gone and he was alone... ~_

* * *

 **Mechanical**

Norman didn't know what woke him, but he did with a start. It didn't take him a minute to remember - where he was or what had happened. He only wished that it had.

His body was stuffed in the shallow hole that the mine at the crossroads had left, that had blown the Fury's track. It was almost ironic in a sick and twisted way, that it was he who was laying in the makeshift grave that had undone them, when he was the only one left alive.

He was the only... one.

"No."

Tear's stung his eyes as he pulled himself out from the ground and crawled back to the hatch at the underside of the tank. It had been his survival, and now he dragged himself back inside. To the place that had both been his hell and become his home - and what he was always sure was going to be his grave.

It was _their_ grave, after all.

He still wasn't used to the smell. He hadn't been around long enough, stayed in the same place long enough, for the aroma of death to truly stay with him - to burn his nose and coat the back of his throat. But that had changed. Last night had changed him.

He'd been safe, safe in the tank surrounded by the other men, their sweat and unwashed bodies, and their fear, filling the enclosed space just like his own. That was gone now, the comradely, the brotherhood that he had just started to form with them. It vanished in an instant, leaving an unmask-able imprint on him.

But here, no… their bodies crowding the space, even now. He could almost imagine them asleep - maybe before, back at the start, when he'd been untouched, naive, he might have been able - if it weren't for the blood - if it weren't for him _knowing._

Swallowing convulsively, he made himself climb past Gordo and climb over Grady, Bible at his side as he crumpled in front of Collier.

The man was in the same position that Norman had last seen him before the Germans' threw a couple of grenades down the hatch.

Those Nazi bastards!

A sob clawed its way from Norman's chest, around his heart, and caught in the back of his throat as he looked at the man that had promised to get him out of this alive. A promise that he had kept, even in his own death.

He wasn't called Wardaddy for nothing. He had ruled this place, this tank. He'd made Norman into a man - made him into a machine.

Collapsed on his knees, Norman reached out with a shaky hand. He sucked in a sharp breath as his fingers grazed across the man's uninjured cheek, the one that had faced away from the explosion. He expected it to be cold, the chill of death overtaking the man - instead, somehow, there was a lingering warmth even now after all this time.

Norman's breath caught. Could-

Was it somehow possible?

"Wardaddy?"

But of course there was no answer. The man was dead.

Even if he had survived the bullet wounds, which wasn't a likely thing, there was no way that he could have lived through the double assault done in by the two grenades that had detonated right by his side.

The sob finally broke through and the tear tracks ran hotly down Norman's numb and dirty cheeks.

"Why?"

He cried, bowing his head, his forehead pressed against the Collier's strong shoulder. Even in death, the man still supported him.

"Why did you leave me? I'm so scared. I don't want to be alone."

" _I know, son. I know._ "

Norman choked, crying against the dead man until the physical manifestation of his sorrow and fear dried on his cheeks.

Sniffing hard, he pulled back.

The gun at his knee caught his attention.

Sergeant's weapon.

He slowly picked it up. It was cold against his sweaty palm - it was cold like Collier should be - it was cold like he was starting to be on the instead. Instead of making him shudder, it filled him with reassurance.

This mechanical cold - it felt right.

Norman started as he heard a noise outside the tank - as he heard the _voices_. His grip on the weapon tightened in response.

They were back! They'd come back for him!

" _Eyes forward,_

 _I'm going to get you out of here alive."_

Norman took a deep breath as top's voice flowed over him like a reassuring arm around his shoulders, pulling him close - and shifted from the man as he heard the bastards climbing up top the Fury.

He cocked the weapon and aimed it at the hatch above.

His arm - his aim - his resolve - was steady - still - mechanical.

* * *

They called him a hero, but it was Collier who was the real hero.

He was Norman.

They were gone.

He was alone.

He had to survive.

He was... Machine.

 _f_

 **I have a vague impression of wanting to do a Norman/Collier fic, but I don't think I'll ever do it, I just really trying to get out the Chronicles of Nick fic that I promised.**

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